


When we live again

by killerweasel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wounds heal, scars fade</p>
            </blockquote>





	When we live again

Title: When we live again  
Fandom: _Sherlock_  
Characters: Gregory Lestrade, John Watson  
Word Count: 963  
Rating: PG  
A/N: AU after _203 The Reichenbach Fall_  
Warnings: mention of character death

It took Lestrade three times to get his key in his door. He’d been up for almost forty-eight hours dealing with a horrible series of murders. They’d finally managed to catch the bastard behind the whole thing. Deep down, he knew if Sherlock had been there, they’d have done it in less than half that time.

Sherlock. Lestrade closed his eyes against the familiar ache in his chest. It had been two months since everything had been turned upside down by Moriarty and the newspapers. He didn’t want to think about Sherlock’s death, didn’t want to think about the chaos and media frenzy that followed afterward. With the world being what it was and the attention span of those within it, any mention of Sherlock had now completely faded. They’d moved on to other things.

At least they’d been able to move on. Lestrade sighed as he pushed the door open. He stepped inside and froze. Even in the darkness, he could make out a figure sleeping on his couch. He flashed back to a time six years ago when he’d come home from work to find a junkie who turned out to be a brilliant consulting detective on that same couch. The man had picked the lock, looked through all of his things, and then grew bored enough to fall asleep waiting for Lestrade to come home.

With shaking fingers, Lestrade turned on the light. He’d expected to see Sherlock, somehow rose from the dead. If anyone could fake being dead, it would be him. Instead, he found himself starring at the slumbering form of John Watson. Lestrade blinked a few times. His door had been locked so John either had a key, which Lestrade had never given him, or he’d learned a few things from Sherlock over the years and picked the lock. Either way, he couldn’t understand why the man was in his flat.

He’d seen John a few times in passing over the last few months, but never really talked to him. Not that John had bothered trying to start a conversation. The last time they’d talked was after the funeral and that hadn’t ended well. Talking had spiraled into ranting from John about Donovan and Anderson working for Moriarty to help ruin Sherlock’s career. Things had grown incredibly heated and John had started to take a swing at him. Mycroft had suddenly been there to grab the smaller man’s arm and drag him away, leaving Lestrade standing there with his mouth open.

Lestrade had been the closest thing to Sherlock’s friend before John had come into the picture. Sherlock had called him his ‘handler’, which wasn’t exactly true. He did try to keep Sherlock busy, give him cases and things, because he knew a bored Sherlock was a very bad thing. And sometimes he had to smooth over things that Sherlock created.

He’d tried to do everything within his power to protect Sherlock when Donovan and Anderson had started their ‘maybe Sherlock’s the one who stole the children and poisoned them’ thing. He’d warned John they were coming when things had been taken to those above him. He’d also delayed the police at the crime scene so John and Sherlock could get away. But that was the limit. That was as far as he could go.

Lestrade didn’t believe any of the lies in the paper and on the news. He’d known Sherlock. He had seen the man solve cases without blinking an eye. Sure, Sherlock loved being the center of attention, but he wouldn’t create problems just so he could solve them. He’d never do something like that. It seemed that he and John were the only people who knew it though.

Even after the fight, John had decided to come here. Lestrade slipped out of his coat and shoes before softly making his way over to the couch. John stirred, but didn’t wake. Lestrade sat down on the arm of the couch by John’s head.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, working out why John had come to him. He wouldn’t want to stay at 221B because it would remind him too much of Sherlock. He wouldn’t stay with his sister because she’d probably say something not nice about Sherlock. People recognized him from his blog and would ask him questions he didn’t want to answer. That just left Lestrade.

Closing his eyes, Lestrade began to whisper to John. He didn’t know if the man could hear him, but he needed to get the words out so they would stop weighing him down. He talked about asking Anderson and Donovan to leave his team because he couldn’t work with them anymore. He talked about the higher-ups giving him all the levels of hell for working with a ‘fraud’ like Sherlock and then almost being demoted. Something had come up and he still had his position (he was pretty sure Mycroft was responsible for it) and now he had a couple of rookies to work with. He talked about how the crime rate in the city had almost tripled now that Moriarty wasn’t controlling things any longer. All the smaller groups were now fighting for territory.

Most of all, Lestrade talked about Sherlock. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to anyone about him since the funeral. He talked until his throat started to hurt. Half-way through a story involving Sherlock wanting to dress in drag for a case (and he really didn’t want to know why Sherlock had an outfit already set aside for such a thing), he felt a hand close around his. He opened his eyes to find John looking up at him with a small smile on his face. Lestrade smiled back. It would be fine. They’d get through this together.

When Lestrade finds John on his couch the following night, he doesn’t even blink an eye. He merely suggests John might be more comfortable sleeping on the bed in the spare room. He also gives John a key so he doesn’t have to keep picking the lock. John stares at the key for so long Lestrade thinks he made a mistake. But then John nods and Lestrade lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

A week later, John moves into Lestrade’s flat. While he still has things at 221B, he doesn’t plan on completely abandoning the place, he can’t stay there now. The emptiness and the silence are too much for him to bear. John found himself turning to mention things to someone who was no longer there and every time it happened, it felt like his still-healing wounds were torn open again.

John goes back to work because otherwise he’d go mad with nothing to do. He and Lestrade don’t see much of one another due to their work schedules. When they do happen to be in the flat at the same time, usually late at night, they end up watching crap telly together while eating. 

Occasionally, Lestrade is woken in the early hours of the morning to the sound of violin music. The first time it happened, he was almost convinced Sherlock had snuck in the flat. He’d run across the hall to John’s room only to find the doctor curled up in a ball on his bed with tears in his eyes. The source of the music turned out to be one of a dozen cds John had brought with him. Lestrade ended up on the bed next to John, gently rubbing his hand between the man’s shoulders. Now when Lestrade hears the music, he makes the two of them tea or coffee and they listen to it in silence.

Time passes. Wounds slowly turn to scars. Life goes on. John continues to stay with Lestrade, but spends time back at 221B, putting things in order. Being there doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. 

Three years after Sherlock’s death, something changes. Lestrade notices, but pretends not to, a large number of anonymous tips which conveniently help solve the particularly difficult cases. John finds things, like the skull, slightly out of place when he drops by 221B. 

One day, Lestrade and John both arrive at Lestrade’s flat at almost the same time. They hear violin music coming from John’s room. Lestrade hasn’t seen John smile like that in years. Ten minutes later, John and Lestrade are on opposite ends of the couch, each holding ice to bruised knuckles. Sherlock, with a split lip (Lestrade) and a black eye (John) is seated between them. They don’t ask where he’s been or why he did what he did. He’ll tell them when he’s ready. 


End file.
